


it’s all good if you’re bad (it’s okay if you’re mad)

by seekrest



Series: The Secret Sessions [12]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: (and a little meta commentary about MJ because of who I am as a person), (when is he not let’s be honest), Alternate Universe, Awesome Michelle Jones, F/M, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, MJ is an actress, MJ is mj, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Theater Appreciation, as she should be, canon nudged to the left, life is art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26625274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/pseuds/seekrest
Summary: “Life is art, Meesh,” her mother used to say, letting the warmth of that memory wash over her.Life didn’t feel like art, it was a dumpster fire - one that Michelle spent every day trying as hard as she could to make better.For herself, if no one else.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: The Secret Sessions [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537501
Comments: 40
Kudos: 105





	it’s all good if you’re bad (it’s okay if you’re mad)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [momentofmemory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/momentofmemory/gifts).



> This is a collab done with & for the amazing mem, who created an incredible gif set to go with this that you can find [here](https://momentofmemory.tumblr.com/post/630182061205012480/im-so-sick-of-them-comin-at-me-again-cause-if)!!!

Michelle closed her eyes, inhaling deeply through her nose before exhaling loudly through her mouth - working as quickly as she could to lower her blood pressure. 

She’d never been more thankful that Director Stark had made a stink about his star getting her own dressing room - no thanks to Osborn and the company. 

It was frustrating that they couldn’t support their  _ lead actress _ in the most barest ways, not even taking into account the very real problems that came with the role. 

This was supposed to be her break, the part that Michelle had spent  _ years _ working towards. All of the crappy auditions, the sleazy directors that she told off, the catty back and forth of other actors all gunning for each other -  _ this _ was the part that Michelle had worked the hardest for and had finally won. 

Every bit part in a terrible commercial, every background chorus line that she was ever a part of - it was all preparation for this role, the leading lady in an adaptation of Twelfth Night that had already gotten rave reviews during their off-Broadway production and was poised to take the season by storm. 

Michelle expected the loud, racist commentary from internet trolls - arguing that Michelle couldn’t play  _ their  _ Viola, arguing that she couldn’t play a twin, arguing against her credentials or her talent. 

What she hadn’t expected was the complete lack of support from the company, from her fellow actors, from everyone save for Director Stark - putting her head in her hands and reminding herself why she got into this in the first place. 

The memories of her mom singing in the living room while some old Nina Simone record played comes back to her, Michelle smiling despite herself at the image of her dad coming up behind her mom before her mother would turn - a smile on her own face as the two of them would dance together. 

“Life is art, Meesh,” her mother used to say, the two of them smiling warmly at her as they danced in their impossibly small apartment. 

Michelle lets the warmth of that memory wash over her and not the years to come - of the sadness that draped over them when her mother died, of how adrift both she and her dad felt in her absence, of how Michelle felt as if she raised herself when her dad - crippled by grief - could barely muster enough concern to get to work, much less make her lunch every day.

Life wasn’t art, it was a dumpster fire - one that Michelle spent every day trying as hard as she could to make better, for herself if no one else.

Theater had been her saving grace in high school, the man she now knew as Tony being Mr. Stark then - a has-been in the world of Hollywood finding his second wind as a teacher.

She’d auditioned on a whim, the art class she desperately wanted to get into filling up before she could contest it. Even now, for as down as she’s feeling, Michelle thinks she should send a thank you to Mr. Harrington - the one who had so casually suggested drama club as if they were one in the same without knowing the trajectory it would set her off on. 

Like a moth to a flame, Michelle was drawn to the theater - a chance to shed her skin as the quiet lonely girl, as the girl with the dead mom and absent dad, as the girl who stuck out in more ways than one - the color of her skin standing out in a sea of Black and white.

The high school productions that gave her chills, the college classes she spent hours practicing in - all of it was building to  _ this _ moment, one that she knows for as ridiculous and as spiteful as everyone could be - she couldn’t allow their words to bring her down. 

This is who she was meant to be, she thinks - bringing her head out of her hands and staring at her reflection.

Her makeup was still perfect, her long curls put together in an updo befitting Viola - summoning all her courage and reminding herself of her mother’s words.

_ Life is art _ , she repeats back to herself before taking a deep breath - exhaling as she stands and commits these words to memory. 

Life could be art, life  _ had _ to be art.

And if this dress rehearsal was the three thousandth time she had to prove it, then so be it.

* * *

Michelle shivered slightly as she pulled her coat closer together, folding her arms as she wedged the door open. 

It would suck if she got stuck up here, not least of which because it was unusually chilly. She’s sure no one would notice if she was gone too which didn’t help matters, a damn shame but Michelle was beyond letting their snide comments get to her.

The commentary from her fellow cast mates was snide at best and rude at worst - Michelle not sure what she was expecting for her Broadway debut but not quite expecting this. They all clearly bonded, not just making the jump to Broadway but the hours and  _ hours _ of rehearsals. All the fun stories that Tony used to regale her with about the family that a cast and crew could be seemed to not hold any weight when it came to theater vs. film.

Or, more realistically in Michelle’s eyes, the difference when you were a rich, young white man compared to a middle-class mixed girl from Queens.

The final rehearsal went off relatively without a hitch though, Michelle warming herself as she walks out to the rooftop alone - glancing up to the sky.

It’s in these quiet moments, looking up and wishing she could see the stars, that Michelle wonders what her mother would think. If she would be proud of her, support her, think of what words to say - a chance for Michelle to focus on her craft and her nerves rather than the superficial trappings of what opening night would be like. 

Tony, for all his help, still didn’t get it - not like Michelle’s mother would have. He argued that it wasn’t about what she was wearing or if she was rude, that it was all about the hustle and the work - that she would show them that she more than deserved to be there.

Michelle shook her head, sighing before closing her eyes. 

_ If only it were that simple _ .

She’s thrown out of the quiet of her thoughts when she hears the tell-tale sound of webs, snapping her eyes open just as she sees him.

Spider-Man lands only a few feet in front of her, releasing the web in his hand as she smirks.

“Hey tiger, what brings you here?” She asks, smirking as his head tilts to the side.

“I was gonna ask you the same question, ma’am,” he says, Michelle laughing as he walks forward. “Kind of cold to be up here all by yourself.”

“If you’re so concerned about that, I can think of a couple different ways you can keep me warm,” she flirts back shamelessly, thrilled by the little shiver that his whole body does as he takes a step forward.

“Tempting. Very,  _ very  _ tempting,” he says, Michelle meeting him halfway before he lifts up his mask halfway - exposing his lips as he wraps his arms around her.

“Someone might see,” she whispers even as she leans forward, Peter’s soft laughter filling the space between them as he says, “Let them.”

He kisses her, quick and sweet and still full of the kind of passion that overwhelms her - as if he knew that she’d had a rough night and all he wanted was to make it better. 

He couldn’t, not really - even Spider-Man couldn’t always save the day. But Michelle appreciated his presence all the same, leaning into the kiss as she wraps her own arms around his neck. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be at a party right now?” He whispers against her lips, Michelle grinning as she pulls him closer.

“You really want me to leave, tiger?” She whispers back, Peter kissing her again by way of response.

They’re cut off all too soon by the sound of sirens in the distance, Michelle feeling him tense against her as he breaks the kiss - resting his forehead against hers.

“I have to go,” he says, Michelle running her thumb across his arm as she replies, “I know.”

He kisses her once more, fierce and quick before taking a step back - pulling his mask back down over his chin as he says, “Go and celebrate, MJ. Tell Tony I said hey. I’ll see you at home.”

“Go get em, tiger,” she says with a grin, Peter laughing as he waves with one hand - sending out another and swinging himself off to the city.

A cool breeze passes by then, Michelle shivering again but still feeling inexplicably warm as she watches him swing away.

She didn’t have her mom with her anymore and her dad, though he tried his best, couldn’t be relied on. But Michelle did have Peter, had May and - as Peter mentioned himself - had a mentor in Tony, someone who she knows would want her to stick it to the rest of them and enjoy herself to the fullest. To not let anyone or anything detract away from her achievements and to the character she had made her own.

Michelle knew her worth,  _ knew _ she was good at what she did, knew that if she was anyone else that she’d be called a fearless leader or an alpha type. 

They could call her wherever they wanted, it wouldn’t phase her - it couldn’t. 

_ Life is art _ , Michelle thinks - smiling as she looked up at the sky once more. 

She was going to make it a masterpiece. 

* * *

_ I'm so sick of running _

_ As fast as I can _

_ Wondering if I'd get there quicker _

_ If I was a man _

_ And I'm so sick of them _

_ Coming at me again _

_ 'Cause if I was a man  _

_ Then I'd be the man _


End file.
